An Unexpected Visitor
by authoresslynnea
Summary: The Laytons recieve an uninvited guest right before Christmas- helping Flora discover there are things her father has been hiding from her.
1. Chapter 1

The phone just wouldn't stop ringing.

Flora rose from the couch, setting the book she was reading aside, and trudged over to the kitchen to answer it. Her socks squeaked harshly against the wooden flooring. She groaned as she lifted the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, er, yes, who is this?" A man's voice. She could hear the sound of pouring rain muffled in the background. Phone booth, maybe?

Flora glared at the wall. She didn't even know who this is. "If you want to talk to Professor Layton then he isn't home."

"And who might you be, then?"

Flora wasn't expecting this. "I'm his daughter. And I could say the same to you, stranger. Who are you?"

"Listen, Flora," the man coaxed. Flora jumped at the usage of her name. "It's me, your uncle Desmond."

"You mean, like, Reinhold-wise or Bronev-wise?" she asked grumpily. This guy seemed fishy.

"Bronev-wise, if that's how you want to put it. Do you really not know? God. By this, I'm assuming he never told you… but anyhow. Flora, I'm here in London and I happen to need a place to stay. I've been talking to Hershel about coming to visit for quite a while now, he's told me quite a bit about you." He paused. After getting no response from Flora, (except for some eye-rolls that he couldn't see over the phone, of course) he continued on. "I'm not far away, could I stop by?"

Flora didn't know what to say. Should she let him? "What was the name again?"  
"Desmond Sycamore. Or maybe you've heard of Hershel Bronev? Or," he sighed, "Maybe… Luke has told you about a man who went as Jean Descole?"

Flora remembered those stories Luke had told her. "Sure, I recognize the last one. Was he was the one with all of the robots and shit like that?"

Desmond let out an extremely audible sigh. "Flora, the language…. what are you, fourteen?"

"I'm seventeen, mind you. And I'm sorry, Mr. I'm Supposed To Be Your Uncle, it's late and I'm not really in the mood for believing random strangers who try to call my dad."

There was a long pause. Flora stood in silence, wondering if she should hang up.

"Please, Flora."

Feeling a slight twinge of guilt, Flora gave in. "Fine. Come if you want. I don't care."

"That's what Hershel would want. Good girl."

The line went dead.

Flora hung the phone back on the wall and stormed back into the living room, opening the blinds on the window at the front of the Layton residence that faced out onto the street. Pacing to their small dining room, she grabbed a chair, dragged it into the living room and positioned it in front of the window.

She'd be waiting.

* * *

Desmond stood at the doorstep, umbrella in hand. The rain poured harder. It was time to stop dawdling and knock.

He didn't notice the pair of eyes peering at him through the blinds.

As he extended his hand, the door opened automatically. Someone had opened it for him- a girl in a sweater, caramel curls looping over her shoulders, her brown eyes glaring down at him. The only difference, it seemed.

"God, you look so much like her," he stammered.

Flora slammed the door.

Desmond's trance was broken. "Flora! I'm sorry! Please!" his yell faded into a whimper. "Please let me in, Flora. I-"

Silence from the other end.

Desmond looked down at the steps. he'd be sitting here for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

"Flora! I demand an explanation! Where are you?"

Hershel Layton stormed through the door, an emotionless Desmond standing in the doorway behind him. He scanned the living room for Flora- she was nowhere to be found.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized to Desmond again. "Her behavior… it's my fault-"

"Please, Hershel, stop apologizing. This was unexpected, neither of you could have possibly known, and I swear she was just acting impulsively…"

"Even so, she could have at least told me…" Hershel fumed, heading toward the stairs. Maybe she was ignoring him up in her room?

"Hersh-" Desmond grabbed his brother's arm. "Leave her be,"

"She's my daughter," Hershel said calmly. "I-"

"She's your daughter whom you hid things from for years," Desmond scolded. "You've been trying to protect her. It's just been hurting her,"

"How do you know about this?"

"Emmy."

Hershel stopped. "What did she tell you about her visit here? Desmond, this was over a year ago. You can't-"

"Emmy told me she had come here," Desmond argued, releasing grip of his brother's arm, "We still keep in touch. She found it _surprising_ you'd never mentioned her to Flora before this point. She had to tell her so much more she didn't know."

"Luke-"

"It's likely Luke didn't say much to her at all. Hershel, you know that was a sensitive time in the boy's life…"

"Enough," Hershel murmured, "The… guest room is up the stairs."

The two brothers stood in silence, neither making any eye contact with the other. Desmond started towards the staircase, only looking back for a moment.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to offend you in any way. It's just the truth."

Hershel did not look up, his eyes glued to the floor. "We'll discuss this in the morning."


	3. Chapter 3

The following morning, Flora was first to rise.

She silently entered the kitchen from the stairwell, removing her sweaty socks to prevent any potential noise. The sun was not up yet, and as soon as she had checked all of the other rooms on the main floor, she had confirmed that no one was awake.

She'd heard that conversation last night, she wasn't deaf. Now it was time for an apology.

Flora snuck over to the wall space where the telephone sat. Above it was the cupboard that contained exactly what she needed- Nana's cookbook.

As she removed the book, she surveyed her prize. On the cover was scrawled 'Layton family cookbook' in a loopy handwriting that could only belong to Lucille Layton herself.

Flora sighed. Nana was a much better cook than she was, having years of experience. She could only dream of having as much success in the kitchen as her... but for now, when she wasn't around to give Flora some good cooking lessons, the cookbook would do.

Flora bit her lip and flipped through the folded and tabbed pages to a recipe labelled 'pancakes'. If she messed up on this one... it would be a shame.

And that would make her father even more cross with her than he already was. Was she quite sure this was a good idea?

She set down the recipe book on the counter and sighed heavily, looking at the book, then at the stairs, then at the clock on the wall, silently ticking nearer and nearer to... six-o-clock in the morning.

Had she really gotten up this early for this? Was she even sure she wanted to apologize?

Of COURSE she did, if she was going to be a good person! But you don't always have to wake up at the crack of dawn to make pancakes for someone you've just met, nonetheless one you've been horrid to to be a good person.

Without thinking about how loud she was being, Flora took one hard glare at the recipe and stomped towards the cupboards to begin collecting her ingredients.

Flour... now where was the flour? No matter how hard she looked she couldn't seem to find it. This should be easy, for heaven's sake! She attempted staring at the cupboard's contents one more time, only to be thwarted by a distracting lock of hair. Right. She should probably do something about that...

She turned around, scanning the room for a ribbon. She left plenty of hair ribbons lying around, there should be one somewhere.

Unable to locate one in the kitchen, Flora peered into the cramped dining room, where the contents of the dinnertable were most definitely out of place. And there it was- a pale yellow ribbon lying on top of the London Times.

Flora paused for a moment. That was funny, some of the contents of this issue were circled in pen. What had her father been up to? Maybe it was some new case he was attempting to crack. Without her.

Those thoughts stung, and only brought back Desmond's words from the night before. Why was he trying to protect her?

Flora blinked back some tears. Never mind all of that. She lifted the ribbon, feeling the silky texture between her fingertips, and swiftly corralled her wavy hair.

It was time to get to work.


	4. Chapter 4

Desmond Sycamore stared at the plate in front of him, four misshapen, yet utterly good-looking pancakes stacked on top of it.

This was definitely a change of tone.

He looked at his brother, who sat in the chair next to him around the (now cleared) dining room table. Hershel hovered his fork and knife over the pancakes, as if somewhat fearful of them. Something told Desmond that this didn't have to do with Hershel's obvious lack of sleep.

It hit him almost immediately. Flora must be an... improving cook. These looked fine, they couldn't possibly be that bad...

"Well?" Flora, who was taking her seat at the other side of the table, tilted her head and waited for a response. Hershel still wasn't moving, so Desmond immediately took a bite.

These tasted fine. Maybe Flora wasn't the bad cook he'd assumed her to be. "They're excellent, Flora. Thank you." He took another bite, looking at Hershel, who was sitting still as stone.

Rude. Desmond stomped on his brother's foot under the table.

Hershel immediately sat up and started eating. "I do apologize," he muttered between bites. "I have been losing some sleep lately."

"What's the matter, Papa?" Flora asked as she poured an excessive amount of syrup on her pancakes. "Have you been staying up hot on the trail of some new mystery?"

 _One that you maybe haven't told me about?_ Flora glanced to the kitchen, where she'd set the paraphernalia that was cleared from the table, reminded of the newspaper. Maybe she could get something out of him.

"I wouldn't really call it that," Hershel sighed. He continued to saw at his pancakes with his knife. "Flora, after last night's... events, I don't think you and your..." Hershel paused. The next words would be hard to get out. "...Uncle Desmond... have never really had any formal introduction."

"Indeed," Desmond nodded. "Well, Flora, I'm Desmond Sycamore. You likely know by this point that your father and I have had some... shared adventures..."

Desmond paused to look at Hershel to see his reaction. Hershel's expression didn't change, so he continued. "But we've never really... gotten around to seeing each other more frequently until now. We've... been discussing this for a bit now, and I apologize for my visit to be so... unexpected, but I've decided that the best way to spend the holidays is with family."

"How long will you be staying?" Flora questioned.

"Oh, well, if your father permits, about four days. That is, I'd be leaving on, say, the day after Christmas. Her-"

"That sounds wonderful." Hershel interrupted. Flora nearly jumped at how quick his response was.

"Well," Flora put on her best smile. "Uncle Desmond, it's very nice to meet you."


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as Hershel had left the house to do who knows what and Flora had buried herself in her bedroom, the cave of books and blankets that it was, Desmond entered the living room at the front of the house for some peace and quiet.

Soft light shone in through the window. The Layton household was completely silent with the exception of the ticking of the clock from the kitchen. It was eleven-o-clock now, Hershel had told him Rosa was checking in at noon. Desmond would still have some time for himself.

He sighed as he sat down on the worn-out sofa, surveying the room, the sweet winter sunlight shining on him. There were a few signs of Christmas cheer- a few greeting cards scattered on the short wooden table at the room's center, some small presents in the corner, and a sprig of mistletoe hung above the entryway. (He supposed this was Flora's work- there was no way Hershel could have hung that...) They didn't even have a tree- this was all.

Desmond reached for some of the greeting cards so he could look through them. As he opened some he found some had pictures inside, and some had names her even recognized. Dean Delmona from Gressenheller had mailed one with a photograph of himself and his granddaughter inside. Alphonse Daltson had inserted a picture of him with... a tiger. Desmond laughed, he had no idea what that was all about, but he felt like Hershel might know.

Randall Ascot. He'd gotten this card himself. He felt like moving on from it and looking at the next one, but he couldn't pull himself to do it. He gently opened it, staring at the familiar handwriting.

When would he see him again?

The Tritons' card had a full letter from Luke stuck inside. Desmond didn't read the entire thing, but one of the last lines read _I miss you both! Come visit again soon!_

How old was he now? If he had his facts right the boy had left about two years ago. If he was correct... Luke would be about fifteen or sixteen now. Desmond himself hadn't seen the boy since he was twelve. Time was a cruel thing.

"He must miss having him around." he muttered to himself, moving that final card to his pile. He stacked them all neatly and set them in the center of the table. There.

"Uncle Des?" Flora called as she ran down the stairs.

"Yes, Flora?" he turned to see the girl entering the room, clutching a book to her chest. He recognized it immediately even though he couldn't see the title: Ancient Histories.

Before Flora could open her mouth, he blatantly asked, "Why do you have that book?"

"I'm reading it for fun." Flora said, sitting down cross-legged on the floor on the other side of the table. "Archaeology is interesting sometimes. I found this book lying in Dad's office, an he said he ha to read it for school when he was my age. I decided to and there's lots of things Luke and Em-" she immediately stopped. "Oh,"

"What is it?" Desmond inquired.

"Who is it that I remind you of?"

Desmond stopped. This was the perfect time to tell the girl... but should he?

It might be painful, yet it was worth a try.


End file.
